The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1887-08-03
THE YELLED PROPHET.
A Bad Dream of Many Riue-Ciad
Marching Men.
New York SUM-

New York Sun.
He dreamed that he was already in St.
Louis, and stood on the balcony of the South
ern. Hotel, waiting for the procession. The
streets below surged with enthusiastic citi-
zens. They all threw up their hats and
shouted: ''Groyer Cleveland for 1882
1t sounded far off, as shouts do in dreams,
yet the welcome words were distinctly intel
ligible.
Then burst of music announced that the
head of the procession was nearing theAs5sxe
where the President stood. The. .s1'est Of
the city started back as if ia,essnTnrise For
it was not the rich blaSsof q full hrass hand
that he heard; bYtthe sharp staccato of flies
am, ,.,.e uISissls playing soldiers march.
1he crowd in the street separated right
and left. Left! left left left came the
measured tread of the marchers, and the
head OF the mighty procession swept by.
This was no carnival scene. The Presi-
dent looked down the long line, but not a
float or barge or an allegorical tableau on
decorated wagon was in sight. No maskers,
no mummers. Nothing but men plainly
dressed in blue, most of them OF middle age
or beyond. marching always in grim earnest
to the music of fife and drum.
The g1est of the city turned Indignantly
to the Chairman of the Committee ON Enter
tainment, who stood just behind him. 'What
does this mean? Is an insult intended?"
The committeeman shook his head urbanely
and put his finger to his lips. Then he point
ed down the line. 1t seemed to be endless.
Still they came, platoon after platoon.
Left! left! left leftp'-a steady, rhythmic
tread, punctuated now and then BY the clink-
ing beckle of pair of iron-shod crutches.
Some Of the marchers wore empty coat
sleeves pinned upon the breast Some of
them marched with difficulty. None of them
glanced up at the balcony where the guest of
the city stood. They moved straight onward,
as Il they were marching to a combat.
The President sighed. Il did not know
there were so many of them" he said
On they came-''left! left! left left I"-
thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of
thousands of Union veterans. And every
few minutes hoarse cheers went up from the
crowd of spectators that lined the way. The
cheers were no longer for the man on the
balcony or for 1888. They were for the bull
let-riddled, tattered, ragged and blood-stained
battle flags that were borne by and for the
memory of the battle years in the sixties.
The minutes seemed hours to the Presi-
dent, and the hours seemed an eternity,
while he stood and reviewed the grim parad-
ers, who paid no heed to his presence. At
lasta welcome sound relieved his ears, weary
of the monotonous tramping. He heard the
rumbling Of wheels. "The Yelled Prophet
somebody shouted: Here he comesv'
AS the massive car approached, drawn by
a score Of white horses, the cheering below
became continuous The guest of the city
leaned over the balustrade, the better to see
the pageant. The car was handsomely deco
rated with flowers and bunting On the sum-
nit of the construction stood single figure,
nan wearing as a veil over his face the
flag of the United States.
The car stopped just opposite the hotel
entrance. The Prophet slowly removed the
veil that had concealed his features and stood
face to face with the President He said
nothing, but stretched his arm forth and
pointed with most significant gesture to
the long line of veterans ahead, their backs
BOW all turned to Grover Cleveland, all
marching steadily away from him into the
distance.
The President recognized the Yelled
Prophet. 1T is George Brinski, my snbsti-
tutev' he murmured, He turned away and
awoke. 1t had been bad dream.